


Full Disclosure

by thornfield_girl



Category: The Exorcist (TV)
Genre: Exorcisms, Kissing, M/M, hard truths
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-04
Updated: 2016-12-04
Packaged: 2018-09-06 12:13:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8750437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thornfield_girl/pseuds/thornfield_girl
Summary: Marcus and Father Tomas are in battle with the demon in Angela Rance. It knows that the truth hurts far more than any lie ever could.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first work in this fandom and I welcome all comments! Please stop in and say hi. :)

Marcus usually preferred it when the demon spoke in its own voice. It was disturbing to hear the deep, throaty sounds coming from the mouth of a young child, or in this case, a middle-aged woman, but in his opinion it was preferable to hearing the evil words in the voice of the host. It was simply less confusing, and the hard truths were less painful when it was clear the intention was to wound. It knew that, of course, and that’s why he chose Angela Rance’s voice for the little grenade it had just hurled. 

_Did it hurt when you saw your pretty Tomas with his tongue in my daughter’s cunt? Did you hope he might be for you?_

Responding was out of the question, and Marcus continued his litany of prayers, trying to drown out the hideous words. His face blazed with humiliation and he was far too aware of Tomas standing beside him, but he did not look over. What look could he give, anyway? What could he say, if he had the opportunity? Denial was pointless, because Tomas knew the demon never lied. It didn’t need to, because the truth hurt so much more.

_At least he’s of age, right Marcus? Unlike you, when Father Brendan broke you in. How you cried that night. But of course, that was mostly because you liked it._

Marcus continued his prayer to Saint Michael the Archangel. “Come to the assistance of men whom God has created to His likeness and whom He has redeemed at a great price from the tyranny of the devil,” Marcus shouted. “The Holy Church venerates you as her guardian and protector--”

_Unlike young Christopher, eh, Marcus?_

The voice had shifted back to the buzzing horror of the demon, but it didn’t help. Not at all. Marcus felt Tomas’s keen gaze on the side of his face like a heat gun.  
“--to you, the Lord has entrusted the souls of the redeemed to be led into heaven. Pray therefore the God of Peace to crush Satan beneath our feet, that he may no longer retain men captive--”

_What a beautiful boy he was. How you longed for him. Every night in your bed you filled your head with his image while you filled your hand with--_

“I never touched him! Never!” 

Marcus felt the iron grip of Tomas’s hand around his bicep, dragging him to the door of the room. Tomas shoved him into the hallway and up against the wall. His face was inches from Marcus’s, and their bodies undulated against each other with heaving breaths.

“What is this?” Tomas panted, the fury clear on his face. “You berated me for keeping secrets, for allowing myself to be compromised, yet you keep this from me? What did you do, Marcus? _Dios mio_ , what did you do?”

“I never--” Marcus squeezed his eyes shut, unable to look Tomas in the eye anymore. “There was a boy, but--” 

“Marcus. You must tell me the whole story, and do it fast. No shame, no secrets. I will protect you.” 

Marcus let out a small, bitter laugh. As if this untried, privileged boy could protect him. This young man would could have done anything, with the looks and charm he possessed, who could have had any woman on her knees for him, and yet had chosen the church out of some kind of genuine love for it. Or so it seemed, anyway.

“There was a boy,” Marcus said. “I was twenty-two, fresh out of seminary and in my first post. One of the parishioners came to me, troubled. Her husband had left her many years earlier, when her son was a baby. Now the boy was sixteen, full of anger, and she’d found certain magazines under his bed.” Marcus laughed again and shook his head. “If I’d been a different sort of priest, it would have been like serving him up on a platter for me. I am not that sort of priest, whatever that thing in there would like you to infer.” 

“So why does it think it can use this against you?” Tomas asked. He’d backed away from Marcus, but still held a hand lightly against his chest, as if to hold him there.

“I never touched him,” Marcus said. “Christopher. But...how I wanted to. God help me, I wanted it more than anything I’d ever wanted. I tried to help him, in whatever ways I could. I kicked the football around with him, tried to let him know I was on his side, tried to be some sort of father to him. He was defiant.” Marcus smiled. “Beautifully defiant. He refused shame, refused the concept of carnal sin. It warmed my little faggot heart, if you want to know, because I knew he’d be all right once he got away from his mother. But he tempted me, continually. I know that’s something the fucking paedos say, when they’re trying to explain why they let those twelve year olds touch their wrinkled old cocks, but he did. Purposely. He told me he could make me feel good, that he’d never tell, that he wanted it as much as he knew I did. I believed him. But I never, Tomas. I swear to God and to you, I never did a thing except in my heart.” 

Marcus fell silent, and Tomas stared at him with wide, shocked eyes. “Why didn’t you tell me any of this?” 

“Surely, you’re not going to tell me you didn’t know I was gay?” 

“I--well, not--I just never heard you say it. You never said it to me.”

“Well,” Marcus said, “now I have. Aren’t you going to ask me about the other thing it said? About you?” 

“It didn’t say anything. It asked. It doesn’t matter to me, Marcus.” Tomas moved his hand from the center of Marcus’s chest to his shoulder. “‘We must love our neighbor as being made in the image of God and as an object of His love.’” 

“Vincent de Paul? Now you’re quoting saints at me? Is that the best you can do?” Marcus leaned his head back on the wall with a sour grimace. “It does matter, as you should by God know. It matters that I tell you, because there can be no surprises in there. I fucked up. I didn’t tell you everything. But now that you know there’s a secret, you must insist on the whole story. All of it, no matter how humiliating or uncomfortable.” 

“You’re right,” Tomas said. “So tell me, Marcus. Do you want me?” 

Marcus released a long sigh. “I want you, Tomas. Of course I do. Did you have any doubt? You know what you look like. You know the power you have over those who may be susceptible. I would never have presumed. I’m not in the market for a fucking priest, anyway. Not anymore. And the last one I’d go after would be the one with a key to his girlfriend’s love nest.”

“You make many assumptions about me.” Tomas licked his lips and blinked. “And now I must tell you something, before we go back in there and you find out anyway.” 

“Yeah? What’s that, then?” 

Tomas didn’t answer, but leaned in slowly, giving Marcus ample time to escape if that’s what he desired. Marcus only watched him as he came closer and closer, and then let his eyes drift shut as their lips touched. It felt warm, and pure, and somehow perfect. This beautiful, good man, strong of heart, though weak of body like all men, kissed him against the wall which contained the most powerful evil he’d ever encountered. It could have felt shameful, if it were a different time, or they were different people. It could have destroyed everything. 

“I feel like we can do anything, now,” Tomas said, smiling softly as the kiss broke. 

“Let’s start by getting rid of that thing,” he said. When Tomas nodded and began to move away, Marcus wrapped an arm around his waist and kissed him again, not nearly as gently as the first time. “Later, maybe some other things.” 

“I thought you said we have to give up love to do what we do.” 

Fear shot through Marcus, and he found the steel that was always so close to his surface. “Is that what this is? Love?” Marcus reached down and rubbed the hard length between Tomas’s legs, with a short, brutal chuckle. “You want to marry me, do you? Shall we get a dog? When are you going to introduce me to your family?” Tomas remained silent. “This is like food, or sleep. The church knows that as well as anyone else, so any guilt you might have about it, you can forget. Believe me, they’d much rather we fuck each other than married women, or God forbid children--these days, anyhow. Don’t confuse this with anything else. You can love me as the ‘object of God’s love’ all you like, but that’s as far as it goes. Got it?” 

The mood had shifted completely. What had felt perfect was now ugly, confrontational. Where before there had been unity was now defensiveness and resentment. How were they supposed to go back in there like that? And yet, somehow, Tomas was smiling calmly at him. 

“Are you finished?” 

“Just about, yeah,” Marcus said. 

“I will not shut love out, if it presents itself to me. Plenty of things scare me--that demon being at the very top of my list--but you are not one of them. I don’t know what things you want to do with me. I am not experienced in these matters, but I am open to you. Please be open to me. Perhaps love is the very thing that will defeat evil, if we humans can ever learn to accept it, to embrace it.” 

Marcus very nearly laughed yet again, but he refrained. Tomas was so naive, so earnest, and that could be dangerous. Paradoxically, it could also be a useful tool if he could hold onto it for a little while. “It will try to turn this against us,” he warned. 

“It won’t work.” Tomas took his hand. “The power is with us.” 

Marcus could only hope that was true. He’d never gone into a battle armed with anything like this before.


End file.
